The Lips of Dying Men
by gbbluemonday
Summary: Death is not personal, nor is it glorious. When it comes, it comes quietly. It comes unannounced. Reid. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Lately I've realized I have an enormous propensity for not finishing what I start—and in this case, not even starting it. This story—as it's written—takes place in the middle of another, because I realized I just didn't have the time or patience to write the whole thing, which, if I were to give it the time of day, would probably be at least two novel-length fics. Nevertheless, it's been bouncing around my head for weeks and I had to write down the scenes that just wouldn't go away. So I'm posting this as a series of one-shots. That way there's no beginning, no end, and no disappointment when I inevitably stop posting. All you need to know: The team just finished a case where the unsub was lobotomizing victims a la Hannibal Lecter. All medical facts are courtesy of Wikipedia, so they're probably all wrong. Whatever.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

"Dr. Hansen?"

Dr. Hansen was sitting at her desk, her glasses perched at the end of her nose as she pored over some unknown patient's chart. The lights in her office were all off save for the dim lamp on her desk, indicating that she was probably getting ready to leave when he popped in, making Reid feel even more foolish than he already felt. He already knew what was going on, he'd been preparing for it his entire life. So this was…what? Affirmation? Yes, that sounded right. He _knew_ what she was going to say, he just wasn't going to believe it until it came out of her mouth. He swallowed hard, and forgot to feel guilty over his interruption, so grateful he was that the lights were dim. God, his _head_…was this going to last the rest of his life? The ibuprofen he had taken an hour ago was doing nothing, and he was not going to take anything stronger, not going to compound the misery of a life spent alone and insane with a relapse into his drug addiction.

_Addict_, said the voice inside his head. Just the one word, but it was so…_accusatory_. Spencer wanted to punch himself in the head, to punch the voice, but that was irrational. Irrational.

_Addict_, the voice said again and Reid closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Dr. Hansen was inches away.

"Dr. Reid?" She was looking at him with an expression of concern, reaching into her pocket for her penlight, but Spencer managed to force a little smile onto his lips and took a step back before she could do anything further.

"Hi," he said. "Sorry, I must have startled you, I didn't mean to walk in on you when you were uh, finishing your paperwork."

"That's not what startled me," she said, withdrawing her hand from her pocket. "I was calling your name for thirty seconds, didn't you hear me?"

"What?" Reid swallowed a lump of panic which had swelled in his throat. How had he not heard her? What else had he missed in the past days, weeks, months? "Oh—sorry I was just thinking about the case—um, can I bother you for a second? I know you're busy…"

"No, come right in," said Dr. Hansen, frowning a little but stepping aside to open her office to him. "I was just thinking about your case as well…I'm here late because I haven't been sleeping well, actually, ever since…" She trailed off, swallowing hard. "I take it this means you haven't found him?"

"No, actually we did," said Spencer as he stepped around her. The chair in front of her desk was beckoning to him but she hadn't invited him to sit down yet, and for some reason, this prevented him from doing anything, made him nervous.

_You can't even take a chair for yourself_?_ Pathetic_.

"Can I sit down?" he said, a little too loudly, squeezing his eyes shut again.

"Of course." Dr. Hansen crossed the room again, and took her own seat across from Spencer as he dropped into his, then gazing at him through her glasses. "Thank God you found him. I thought I was never going to be able to rest easy again."

"Well it was actually the information you gave us that led to his arrest," said Spencer. "It was incredibly helpful, I wanted to thank you. And let you know we caught him, of course." He laughed nervously.

Dr. Hansen nodded slowly. "But that's not why you're here, is it?"

Reid swallowed and then almost backed out, his brain reeling with a hundred different excuses for why he came; he told himself just to say, Yes, that is why he came and then excuse himself, he even smiled as if that was what he was about to say, but then tears welled in his eyes unexpectedly and he dropped his head in shame.

"Is this about the headaches?"

Spencer was so surprised by this that his head snapped up, letting a tear fall down his face. He wiped it away hastily, and if Dr. Hansen saw she didn't say anything but held her gaze steady on his face.

"How did you know?"

"Sensitivity to light, nausea, constantly rubbing your head…I'm a neurologist, I know a migraine when I see one. How long have you been getting them?"

Reid took a deep shaky breath.

"I used to get them all the time when I was in college but they went away…they went away for a long time. Then about three weeks ago I started getting them all the time. I haven't—I haven't told my boss, but it's starting to affect my performance so I was wondering if I could talk to you."

"Of course," said Dr. Hansen. "You all did this community a huge favor by tracking down that man, I can give you the courtesy of a consult. What have you been taking for the headaches?"

"Well, I started out taking acetaminophen when I thought they were just headaches, and I've been alternating that with ibuprofen, but those haven't really helped. I was going to get a prescription for some sort of triptan, but…I haven't really had much time," he concluded lamely.

_Liar_.

"Has the acetaminophen helped with the spasms at all?"

Once again Reid was surprised. He may not have been able to hide the headaches, especially once the phantom smells started, but he thought he had at least been able to conceal the painful tremors which had been tearing at his hands and quadriceps all week. Again, he swallowed hard.

"No."

"Are you in much pain from those?"

Once again he wanted to lie, to make this seem like less than it was, but when he opened his mouth the truth came out in one simple word: "Yes."

Dr. Hansen didn't miss a beat. "Have you considered taking something stronger to manage the pain?"

Too quickly, Reid said, "I'm not taking any narcotics."

At this Dr. Hansen leaned across her desk, resting her chin on her folded hands.

"How long have you been clean?"

At this Reid gave a short, incredulous laugh and couldn't help but break eye contact. "You really don't miss much do you?"

She smiled. "That's from being a psychologist. How long?"

"Almost four years."

"Good for you," she said softly. Then she leaned back, her expression observant, calculating. "Well, Dr. Reid, I can give you a prescription to treat these without narcotics, if you want, but I have a feeling you didn't come to my office at this hour just for a prescription for migraines. There's no shame in a headache, but you don't want your team to know that you're here. What's really going on, Dr. Reid? Why are we meeting off the record instead of just making an appointment? For that matter, why come to see me rather than your PCP? Migraines aren't exactly foreign to general practitioners; they're just as qualified as I am to give you a prescription."

Reid laughed nervously again. "You should be a profiler," he said. Dr. Hansen continued to stare at him, so he cleared his throat. "It's actually your degree in psychology that has me here, Dr. Hansen."

Dr. Hansen pressed two fingers to her lips and nodded for him to continue. Spencer's eyes found a scratch on the corner of her desk, on which he chose to focus to avoid the intensity of her gaze.

_Don't tell the bitch_.

"My mother's a paranoid schizophrenic."

_Not another word, motherfucker_.

"And I've been hearing voices."

Dr. Hansen didn't flinch.

"For how long?"

"Um…about as long as I've had the headaches, I think."

"And how long have you had the tremors and spasms?"

"Uh…just a week."

"Any phantom smells or visual hallucinations?"

"Yeah, I keep smelling rotting—rotting flesh. But I haven't seen anything, it's just the—the auditory hallucinations."

"Nausea?"

"Mostly in the mornings, but it's not as frequent as the other symptoms."

"Blurred vision, trouble concentrating?"

"Yes." Reid frowned. These were all his symptoms, and he knew they all matched up with schizophrenia, but there was something about hearing them all laid out like this which didn't quite add up, though his pain-addled mind couldn't put it all together, and trying just made his head throb harder. He forced himself back to Dr. Hansen, who was speaking again.

"Dr. Reid, I'm certain you've done a fair amount of research into schizophrenia, so I hope you won't mind that I ask you a few questions."

Reid shook his head.

"Dr. Reid, do you know what age most cases of schizophrenia present by?"

"Nineteen to twenty-nine, but—"

"And what's one thing that's almost certain to bring out a schizophrenic episode in a person who is prone to the disease?"

"Prolonged drug addiction, but—"

"And Dr. Reid, what is the very definition of a paranoid schizophrenic?"

"Inability to tell between reality and fantasy…"

"Exactly," said Dr. Hansen, leaning forward once more. "Dr. Reid, you just used the term, 'auditory hallucinations.' Not once in twenty years have I heard a paranoid schizophrenic use that phrase in my office. On top of that, have you ever heard of a case with such rapid progression of symptoms? It would be..._extremely _rare, Dr. Reid. Not impossible—and your symptoms do match up with those of a paranoid schizophrenic—but at this point it would be extremely irresponsible of us not to explore other options."

There was a sharp buzzing in Reid's ears, like someone had poured bees into his head. This was…not what she was supposed to be saying. He had come in here bracing himself for his life to be altered—inevitably, irreversibly altered—but she wasn't delivering the blow. So she was saying…he _wasn't_ crazy? That didn't sound right, but his head was pounding, and the information was _so hard_ to process. What, if not insanity?

"Dr. Reid," said Hansen, not mentioning his blank stare. "I'm going to schedule you for a CT scan right away—in fact, if you're available, I'm going to pull some strings and get you in tonight. The rapid advancement of the symptoms you're describing to me has me more than a little worried, to be honest. It's an outpatient procedure, of course, but is there anyone you want to call before we go down to radiology? These things can be a little scary, especially when the outcome is unknown. It would be good to have someone here with you."

Spencer lifted his head, which felt uncharacteristically heavy and dull.

"You're saying I might not be crazy?"

"I'm saying I want to rule out every other possibility before we come to that conclusion. Do you have someone you want to call?"

Reid still could not fathom the implications of what she's telling him, but through the haze and heaviness one thought managed to leave his mouth with some semblance of coherence.

"No," he said. "There's no one."


	2. Chapter 2

Garcia didn't know what she was doing. She had snooped before, and she had never had any problem sharing the product of her snooping, but snooping into the life of a fellow member of the team was rarer, she tried to avoid doing it, and this was such a _big_ secret she had uncovered…._Why_ hadn't Reid told anyone? And why was it _her_, stupid, nosy _her_ who had to find out? She knew she wasn't going to be able to keep her mouth shut about something this important, something this big—she was amazed she had made it out of the office without blurting it out to Emily or Morgan as she passed them on her way out. Morgan had been suspicious, too, because she had forgotten to give him a witty farewell, and was wearing a look that suggested she had just swallowed a pound of wasabi. If he had managed to stop her she might have—_would_ have spilled the beans, but he hadn't, and she hadn't, and now here she was, standing on Reid's doorstep, hand poised to knock, lip trembling. Alone.

She could hear the TV inside, which was odd because in her head Spencer Reid didn't have a TV, just stacks of books piled as high as they'd go all around the walls. It sounded like he was watching Public Access, though, so this small revelation wasn't such a shock to her system, not like the one she received earlier. She imagined him sitting on the couch, hunched over and pale, the dark circles around his eyes even more pronounced than ever. Alone.

The thought gave her enough courage to lift her hand and knock three times.

There was a muffled thud from somewhere inside, as of something being dropped, and a moment later the door was pulled open just wide enough for Reid's face to appear, looking haggard and sleepy.

"Garcia?" he said, his voice sounding as sleepy as he looked. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

_I woke him up_, Garcia thought, cursing herself. He'd looked so sleep-deprived over the past few weeks; she'd probably interrupted the only rest he'd had in days. And if she'd read those files right, he needed all the rest he could get. But she was already there, and there was no way she could leave now, not without saying _something_.

"Hey, Reid," she said in a small voice. "Can I come in?"

It was evident from Reid's expression that he thought something had happened to _her_, but he looked utterly perplexed about why she had come to him. Nevertheless he said, "Yeah, of course," and closed the door in order to unhook the chain and open it wide enough to let her in. "Are you okay?"

In the brief second while the door closed and then opened again Garcia ran over everything she had planned on saying to him when she got here, every conversation she had imagined on the car ride over, every reprimand and condolence…but as soon as the door opened and she saw him there, looking tall and ever-so-thin and baffled and worried, the only thing she could do was step forward and wrap him in her arms.

Reid stumbled back, arms held out to his sides as if he could not decide what to do with them for just a moment before he tentatively returned the hug. Garcia wanted to cry at how thin he felt, and how he seemed to be shaking just a little bit. She didn't want to hug him too tightly for fear of breaking him, but she also didn't want to let go, because if she let go he would crumble and blow away in the wind, and she would have lost yet another one of her babies, all because she didn't know how to hold on just a little bit tighter. She didn't say anything.

After an awkward moment, Reid gave a nervous chuckle.

"Garcia, if you hold onto me much longer we're going to have to start thinking of ways to tell Kevin."

Joking. He was _joking_. It was weak and pathetic, yes, but it was a _joke_, and just that thought made Garcia want to cry all the more.

"I read your file," she mumbled into his chest. "Your medical file. I'm sorry."

Reid went very still. There was a brief pause, and then he gently disentangled himself from her grasp and closed the door.

"You hacked my hospital?"

He didn't sound mad; just incredulous. Garcia turned to face him, and she could no longer keep the tears from running down her face.

"Oh, Reid, I'm so sorry, I didn't know what I was going to find, but everyone's been so worried about you, you've been acting so funny, and Morgan's been talking about…well, we don't really know what we thought you were doing, but we knew there had to be something, so I thought if I just did a little snooping I might be able to figure it out and then we might be able to help you, but Reid, I wasn't expecting to see the hospital records, and Dr. Hansen, and all those medications, and those pictures…Why didn't you tell us, Reid? Did you think we wouldn't care? That we wouldn't want to help you? You're our _family_, Reid, you're _my_ family, how could you keep something like that from us?"

Reid didn't say anything. He just stood there, his mouth slightly open, his hands hanging limply at his sides and shaking slightly, though Garcia didn't think it was out of anger. When the silence became prolonged, Garcia took a step toward him and said, "Reid?"

Reid swallowed and, with what looked like a huge effort, reestablished eye contact.

"Did you—did you tell everyone?"

Garcia shook her head, wiped away a few tears. "No. No, I came right here after I…after I found out."

Garcia expected anger, or apologies, or some statistic about the consequences of breaking a friend's trust. What she did not expect was for Reid to sway on the spot, then go even paler than he already was.

"I think I need to sit down," he said.

Garcia was at his side in an instant, grabbing his arm with her shaking hands. For the first time she looked around the apartment—only a cursory glance, enough to find the couch and realize that yes, most of the apartment was covered in books—before she led him over to the sofa and helped him sit down.

"Oh my God, Reid."

He was trembling and sweating. How could they have not looked into this before? How could they have ignored it so diligently, so long that it had gotten to the point where he could barely stand for three minutes on his own? But Reid shook his head.

"I'm okay, I'm fine," he said, sounding a little out of breath. "I just—can you get me a glass of water, please?"

Garcia nodded and sprang off the couch, nearly tripping over a nearby stack of books in her haste to locate the kitchen and get back to the couch as fast as she could. When she returned, Reid was bent over double, head in his hands, but he straightened as soon as she sat next to him, and spent the next moment sipping the water cautiously, eyes closed. When he was done, he handed her the glass and she set it on what little space was available on the coffee table. Reid reached for the remote and shut off the television.

"Thank you," he said in a small voice.

"What just happened, Reid?"

Reid grimaced, as if the sound of her voice was physically painful, then said, "The best word I have to describe it is—ah—vertigo. My depth perception gets addled when my morning medication wears off, but I can't take the next round for a couple of hours. I never realized how tall I was before all of this." He attempted a smile, but it gave way to another grimace.

Garcia wanted to cry again, but this was not the time. Numbness was spreading from her heart to her limbs, because Reid had just confirmed what she had known to be true, but had hoped was just a case of some intern's clumsy filing, or maybe that she had finally made a fatal error in her hacking—something which she had never hoped before. But that was it. There was no turning back from here. Reid was sick. Really sick.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this," said Reid, as if he had read her thoughts.

"Why didn't you tell us, Reid?" Garcia was unable to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Reid smiled again, but this time it was an ironic smile, as if he was laughing at himself. He looked at his hands, though Garcia couldn't tell if he was avoiding looking her in the eye or if he just didn't want to look into the lights.

"I didn't want to burden anyone," he said.

"Reid, you could never be a burden—!"

"It's okay, Garcia," he said, cutting her off. "It's not a reflection on you or anyone else on the team. It's just a simple issue of the human psyche. Logic dictates that the human mind can only bear so much stress at one time, and with everything else that's been going on around the BAU in the past year—with Hotch and Foyet, and losing JJ—I didn't want anyone to think they were responsible for taking care of me. You all have enough responsibility as it is."

"So you thought you'd just deal with a—a"—she dropped her voice to a whisper—"_brain tumor_ all on your own? By your own logic, Reid, that's too much for one person to handle."

Reid didn't argue.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm not mad!" said Garcia, wanting to hit herself for even making him think it. "I'm just so, so worried about you! Every time I think about you having to go through all of the stuff they had on your chart all by yourself it makes the happy bubble I keep around myself melt into a giant puddle of despair all over the floor, and I hate that kind of mess. You must have been so scared and we weren't there to help you, and that just sucks, Reid, it sucks a lot."

The ironic smile was back.

"I wasn't scared," Reid said, with a short, embarrassed laugh. "I was relieved."

Garcia frowned.

"What? Reid…"

"I thought I was going crazy, Garcia. I thought—" His lips began to tremble, and he wiped at his eyes, though not quickly enough to hide the tears that had formed there. "I thought I was losing my mind and that I was going to be stuck like that for the rest of my life. But with the cancer—the tumor—at least I knew I wasn't going to have to live like that forever. At least…one way or another, it was all going to end."

Garcia's mouth fell open, and a few more tears fell from Reid's eyes before he could wipe them away. He looked away from her to hide the tears until he could stop them, but Garcia reached out and grabbed his arm, imploring him to turn back to her. He did, his lips trembling, his eyes shining.

"Reid," she said, "how bad is it? Pumpkin, please just tell me that you're going through the hard part now, but you're going to get better in the long run. Because that's what's going to happen, isn't it? You're going to get better?"

Reid gave her a tremulous smile.

"Do you want the statistics?"

Garcia shook her head. "No, Reid, I want you to tell me that you're going to get through this! That no matter how bad the statistics are, _you_ are going to be all right! We can't lose you, you're our boy genius, you're totally irreplaceable, and I don't say that just because no one else in the world has that big brain of yours. _We_ need you. So tell me you're going to be okay, okay?"

Reid looked her in the eye this time, but again, he said nothing.

"Oh my God," said Garcia.

"I'm sorry," said Reid.

Garcia couldn't stop the tears now, but he couldn't just sit there either. She pulled Reid forward into the best mama bear hug she could muster and held him there, as much for her own comfort as for his. Despite his usual opposition to contact, even so much as a handshake, Reid did not object.

Garcia did not release him until she had stopped crying, and his trembles had subsided somewhat. Even when she let him go, she kept one of his hands clutched in hers. With her other hand, she wiped at her smudged makeup.

"What now?" she said. "You have to tell the others."

Reid shook his head. "I can't do that to them right now. We just lost JJ, no one has time to hold my hand while I get radiation fired at my brain."

"Radiation…?" Garcia gasped, then shook the thought to the back of her mind. "Reid, you can't _work_ like this, you need people, you need help…"

"I know," Reid sighed. "That's why I went to Strauss last week and asked for an extended leave of absence. I explained the situation to her, she agreed…and I asked her not to tell any of you."

"Reid! If you're leaving anyway, why not tell Hotch? He can't be mad at you for something like this!"

"I know," said Reid. "But I want him to be."

"You _want_ him to—?"

"Statistically, a person motivated by anger is five to eight times more likely to finish whatever task they have at hand than a person who lacks motive, and twenty times more likely than a person who is motivated by sadness," said Reid, sounding like his old self. "If I'm going to leave, I don't want to destroy everyone's work ethic in the process. And you guys are gonna have to work pretty hard to make up for me being gone." He attempted another smile, but this time anger boiled up in Garcia, and she snapped,

"Did it ever occur to you that we might _want_ to be there for you through this? That that should be _our_ choice?"

Spencer shook his head. "I'm not letting it be your choice."

"And how were you planning on letting us know? At your funeral?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Garcia clapped a hand to it.

"Oh, Reid. Oh, Reid, I didn't mean—of course there's not going to _be _—!"

"Garcia, it's okay. This is exactly why I didn't want you worrying. Everyone's already pushed to the edge. Including you. You don't need me on top of it all."

Garcia swallowed, then drew herself to the fullest height she could achieve while sitting on the sagging couch.

"Well, much as I hate, hate, hate it, whether or not you tell the rest of the team is up to you. But I'm already here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'll come with you to your treatments, I'll stay with you here—or you can stay with me and Kevin if you want, he won't tell anyone either, not if I threaten him sufficiently. I'll tell Hotch to hire a new media liaison, he's going to have to do it eventually anyway, because doing even part of JJ's old job is way too much for me. Then I can go mobile, I can do my job from anywhere, even a hospital. You're not going to be alone through this, Reid, I don't care what you say."

"Garcia…"

"_Don't_ try to tell me what to do, Spencer Reid, not when my mind is made up like this! This has nothing to do with what you want!"

"Garcia."

"And for that matter, you'd better tell me where everything is in this apartment, because I'm not leaving here tonight. So point out your computer, mister, and direct me to the blankets so I can make this couch into something resembling a bed."

"Garcia."

"And _don't_ say my name again, or I'll make this really humiliating and get a baby monitor so I can check on you during the night if you so much as sneeze, so help me Steve Jobs and all other things that are holy—!"

"Garcia!"

At last, Garcia looked up from her rant. Spencer was staring at her, his eyes brimming with tears of exhaustion and…something else…

"Thank you," he said.

Tears immediately sprang back to her eyes.

"Okay," she said, turning her head to wipe them away. "Good."

"Garcia, if you're serious—"

"Of course I'm serious!"

"Then I need to ask you a favor."


	3. Chapter 3

"Wheels up in thirty minutes," said Hotch, rising from his seat. Everyone else hurried out of the round table room around him to grab their go bags…everyone except Reid.

Reid continued to sit at the table, his head hanging, staring at the unopened file in front of him. He had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the briefing, speaking only when asked a direct question, and though his answers were as helpful as ever, his voice had been listless and distant, as if his thoughts were far beyond the briefing room. Hotch paused for a moment to examine Reid's face—pale, hollow, sunken—his posture—hunched, weak, as if he could barely support his own meager weight—and finally his hands, which were resting on the table, trembling slightly, then he said, "Wheels up in thirty, Dr. Reid. Get your things."

Reid said nothing, but he swept the papers and pictures back into the file and stood up. God, he had gotten so skinny.

_What are you doing to yourself, Reid_?

Hotch had seen the signs for weeks now—constant trips to the bathroom, wearing only long sleeves, sleep deprivation, irritability, weight loss…it was all a terrible déjà vu,, but there had been no time to dwell on what was happening to Reid, not with JJ gone and the cases flowing in at a higher volume than usual, not to mention having Jack at home…worried as he was about Spencer, he had taken the back burner in the wake of everything else. Hotch just kept telling himself, after the next case, after the next case, because he couldn't risk saying something that would spook Spencer into leaving, because they needed his mind…_Took advantage of his mind_.

And this case was no different. Six women in two weeks, and at least four more possible victims—this one needed to be solved fast, and that wasn't going to happen without Reid.

After this case, Hotch said to himself. Reid has done this before. He can pull through it again.

He gave Spencer one last appraising look as the thin man gathered his messenger bag onto his shoulder, then turned to leave the room.

"Agent Hotchner."

Hotch stopped, mostly because he hadn't heard Reid call him by his official title in five years. When he turned, Reid was a foot away, holding something out in his shaking hand and looking Hotch right in the eye, his face a picture of determination. Hotch looked at the object in the trembling hand. An envelope. It looked slightly crumpled, as if Reid had been carrying it around for some time. Hotch took it, mostly to spare Reid the embarrassment of the obvious tremor.

"What's this?"

Reid took a deep breath.

"I'm taking a leave of absence," he said. "I don't know for how long."

Hotch scanned Reid's face for a moment, then said, "No."

Reid looked as if he had expected this.

"Agent Hotchner—"

"I said no, Reid. I won't grant the request. We're already a man down, I can't allow an indefinite leave at this time, not for anyone. Whatever personal problems you're dealing with, you're going to have to deal with them while we work cases. I'm sorry, Reid, but we can't spare you."

He turned to leave.

"Agent Hotchner."

Once again, Hotch turned to face Reid.

"I think you misunderstood me," said Reid, and though the look of determination remained, his voice wavered. "I'm not putting in a request, I'm giving you a notification. I already went to Strauss, she approved the time. I can't work any more cases."

This caught Hotch off guard, and despite his cool resolve, he felt a bubble of anger swell in his chest.

"You went over my head with this? Why?"

Reid stiffened. "It's personal."

"Reid."

"Hotch," Reid's voice broke as he used the nickname, as if he realized that he shouldn't have used it only as it was coming out of his mouth. "Please don't do this. I just need some time. Please."

Hotch could see Reid cursing himself, could tell that he hadn't wanted this to turn into begging, but right then he couldn't quite let go of Reid's betrayal. How could he have gone to Strauss, knowing everything the team was going through? Didn't he think they had all seen the signs, that they knew he was struggling? He could ask for help and it would be given, but if he was too stubborn to say it out loud, Hotch didn't have the time to coax him into admitting his problem. He also didn't have time for this conversation. There were women out there dying, and he needed to stop it as soon as possible.

"I can't spare you on this case, Reid. Finish it out and then we'll talk."

"It's already done," said Reid, though his voice was small.

"I'll talk to Strauss when the case is over."

"She'll tell you the same thing."

Hotch fixed Reid with his penetrating stare, and to his credit Reid tried to hold his gaze, but of course he broke eye contact before Hotch did.

"I need you on this case, Dr. Reid."

Reid swallowed. "Then I need this to be my last one."

"We can talk more about that when we've caught the UnSub."

"I'm not changing my mind."

Hotch gave Reid one last sweeping stare, then turned to leave.

"Wheels up in twenty."

Outside of the round table room, Hotch spotted Garcia hovering near the door, her go bag clutched in one hand, her face all concern.

"Sir—," she began.

"Wheels up in twenty," said Hotch, and he swept past her and into his office.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for the reviews so far! I'd just like to reiterate that this is not meant to be a linear story at the moment, just so no one is confused by the time/space jumps.**

Prentiss didn't know how Reid had gotten ahead of her—the only conclusion she could draw was that he had found some shortcut into the cluttered hallway of the desiccated building where the UnSub had been hiding, because his voice had just crackled over her headphone, saying, "I think I've got him cornered, Prentiss. East corner, second floor."

"Stay put, Reid," Prentiss replied, taking the stairs two at a time and praying that they didn't fall through under her weight. "This guy is definitely armed, wait till I'm there to back you up."

She meant what she said, but she put more force behind her words than she might have otherwise. She knew about Reid's propensity for getting himself into massive amounts of trouble when left to his own devices, but now he even _looked _as vulnerable as he acted, so skinny and pale…She knew Morgan's theory regarding this, and though she wouldn't believe that Reid was back on the narcotics until she had proof, she couldn't help but think that, with the irritability, the weight loss, the inexplicable trips to the bathroom, it was looking more and more likely that Morgan was right. And the last thing she wanted was to send a strung-out Reid right into the hands of their UnSub.

She reached the top of the stairs at last, panting just a little, and looked right and left, down each musty hallway. Which way was east?

"Reid?" she said softly. "Which way do I turn?"

"Right, Emily, but hurry up, I think he's on the move. Where are the others?"

Emily turned right and raised her weapon, wishing she didn't have to follow procedure by checking around every corner. The building was so dilapidated that sunlight was streaming through every crack in the walls, but it was so dusty that it was still hard to see, let alone breathe.

"They're on their way, Reid, just stay put."

"I can't Emily, I think he's—"

But whatever the UnSub was, Reid didn't say, and it sent a thrill of panic down Emily's spine, similar to the time she had heard the gunshot over the phone when Reid had taken a bullet to the leg. She sped up, skipping checking around corners and calling Reid's name until she came to a bend in the hallway and, rounding it, saw him.

She reached Reid right as the UnSub burst out of the shadows and charged right at him. Emily didn't even have time to react—all she saw was a dark shape, thick and heavy, barrel out of the dust at a second shape, this one tall and thin. The first shape drew a gun, and Reid reached out out of instinct more than anything, it seemed. The gun went off. Reid went sprawling.

"Reid!" Emily shouted. Her heart beating violently against her ribcage, she raised her weapon at the UnSub and fired off a shot—it ricocheted off the exposed metal frame of the building, and the UnSub dodged through a door before she could fire another round. Emily ran—wrenched the door open and pointed her gun inside, whirling wildly in all directions. He was gone.

On the far side of the room was a window, open all the way, and on the outside Emily could see the very top of a ladder. He had been prepared for this.

"Shit!" she said, then, holstering her gun, she ran back to where Reid had fallen.

He was on his back, spread-eagle, his gun lying loosely in the palm of his outstretched arm. His eyes were wide and staring blankly at the ceiling, unseeing, and Emily's first thought was, Oh, God, he's dead.

She knelt beside him, her hands shaking, and said into her microphone, "Officer down, Twelfth and Bellevue. Suspect is on the run."

"Reid?" she said, leaning down so that her face was close to his chest. "Can you hear me?"

Relief swept through her when she saw that he was breathing—regular, strong, even breaths—but he did not move, did not respond to his name when she called it again. She ran her hands all over his body, even going so far as to turn him onto his side, but there was no blood. There was no wound. The bullet had not even hit his vest—it seemed Reid had swept the UnSub's arm out of the way just in time, and instead of getting shot, he had merely been knocked over.

So why wasn't he moving?

"Reid," said Emily again. She knocked Reid's gun out of his hand and replaced it with her own. "Reid, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

No response. He continued to stare into nothingness.

Panic of a different kind gripped Emily, and she grappled for her cell phone, hitting the first number on the speed dial.

"Hotchner," said the voice on the other end.

"Hotch, it's Emily. The UnSub got away, but I think something's seriously wrong with Reid."

"What happened?" Hotch asked, all business.

"I don't know, he's—"

But before Emily could explain the situation, Reid sat up suddenly with a gasp.

"Wait, I think he's coming out of it. I'll call you back."

She hung up before Hotch could respond, and got to her feet as Reid struggled to his.

"Reid!" she said, grabbing him as he threatened to topple over again. "Reid, what are you doing? Sit down!"

"No," Reid gasped, though he couldn't seem to focus on her; his eyes kept sliding over her face and onto the hallway behind her. "No, I'm fine, I just had the wind knocked out of me. What happened? Did he get away?"

"Reid, what are you talking about? That was _not_—what the hell just happened?"

Reid blinked once, hard, stared at her face for a second, then stooped to retrieve his gun.

"Sorry, he just ran into me really hard. I guess he sort of stunned me. Are you okay? Where did he go?"

"Reid," said Emily slowly, "I think you need to go to the hospital. I don't know what just happened, but that was _not_ normal."

Reid shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Are the others here yet? Let's go—we might be able to cut him off."

And before Emily could object again, he sidestepped her and headed off down the hall, leaving her to stand in perplexity for just a moment before hurrying after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Three cars were waiting for them when they deboarded the plane, and though Morgan noticed that Reid was hanging back so he didn't have to ride with him or Hotch, he was too angry to care—and he wanted Hotch to know about it. He took the first car and Hotch climbed into the front seat beside him while Emily and Rossi took the second, leaving Reid and Garcia (who had also been late off the plane, trying to get her computer together) to the last one. Morgan pulled off the tarmac before the others had even closed their doors, and Hotch didn't look the least bit surprised.

"Please tell me," said Morgan, gripping the wheel like it was somehow tethering him to reality, "that I am not the only one who's noticed something going on with Reid."

"Of course not, Morgan, we all know something has been off about him. And you haven't exactly been quiet about it either. We all know your theory, but if Reid doesn't want to talk about it—"

"It's not a theory!" said Morgan, slamming his palm down on the wheel. Hotch went silent, and fixed Morgan with his most penetrating stare, but Morgan didn't look away from the road. He was trying to get his temper under control, trying to be the rational profiler he usually was, but this wasn't a normal investigation they were talking about, and this wasn't some UnSub, this was _Reid_, and his only victim was himself.

"What are you talking about, Morgan?" said Hotch, his voice even and calm. If there was one thing Morgan envied about Hotch, it was his ability to keep his cool under pressure. Morgan took a deep breath and tried to mimic him.

"I checked that little bag he's been carrying into the bathroom with him every time he goes," he said.

"Without his permission?" said Hotch, and though Morgan knew Hotch knew the gravity of the situation, he sounded angry at the breach of procedure. But this wasn't procedure. This was Reid. Just because the evidence wasn't admissible in court didn't mean it was any less true.

"Hotch, it's full of hypodermics."

Hotch didn't blink. "But did you see the actual narcotics?"

Morgan made a noise of frustration and shook his head. "I didn't have a chance to read any labels. But Hotch, isn't that enough? We know he's been fading, and it's starting to affect his job. Pretty soon he won't be able to work, and I'm not going to let him rot alone somewhere. It's obvious he's not going to help himself. We messed up last time, we didn't help him enough, but he made it through. Not this time. He needs us to intervene."

Hotch stared at Morgan for another long moment, then looked straight ahead, eyes on the road. Morgan glanced over at him, for it seemed for a moment that Hotch wasn't going to ay anything else, but he looked like he was struggling with himself.

"He may not give us a chance this time," Hotch said at last.

"What?"

Hotch sighed. "Morgan, Reid came to me before this case and told me he was taking an indefinite leave of absence. He didn't say why, but…"

"_What_?" Morgan all but shouted. "And you're letting him?"

"No," said Hotch. "He went over my head, straight to Strauss. I called her from Michigan, but whatever he told her, she's not talking."

"Why didn't you say something?" said Morgan, some of his anger redirecting itself at Hotch. "You didn't think I'd want to know?"

Hotch shook his head. "I was hoping I could convince him to stay, but…I don't think that's wise any more."

"Why not?"

Hotch paused, pressed his hand to his mouth, then removed it.

"Because I don't think Spencer's an asset to the team in the condition he's in."

Morgan shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. "I don't know how you can say that, man."

"Morgan, I know as well as you do that Reid is irreplaceable, but until he starts taking care of himself he's no good to us, especially in the field. If he needs time off to get himself in order, then I think the best thing I can think to do is give him that time."

"For once can we not think about what's best for the investigations and just think about what's best for _Reid_?" Morgan snapped. "If we leave him alone right now he's going to kill himself, and that is _not_ what he needs."

"Morgan, catching killers is the main priority of this team."

"Yeah. I get that. We're profilers, it's what we do. But we're also his friends."

"If Reid was going to take our help on this he would have asked for it. But not only is he not asking for help, he's refusing to tell us that he has a problem. You know as well as I do that he can't be helped if he won't even make the admission. I don't know what else to do, Morgan, but to respect his wishes."

Morgan gripped the wheel tighter, till his knuckles burned, and pressed on the gas.

"Yeah, well, I guess that's up to you, Hotch. But you'll excuse me if that doesn't sit right with me."

Hotch pressed his lips together and did not reply, but Morgan knew as well as Hotch that that didn't mean this was over.


	6. Chapter 6

Three cars were waiting for them when they deboarded the plane, and Emily watched as Morgan and Hotch climbed into the first one and sped off. She had seen Morgan's anger boiling over on the plane, and was more than a little relieved that she didn't have to ride with him back to the office. She was doing her best to remain neutral in all of this, but the longer she remained silent, the more she felt like she was standing in the middle of a volcano, trying to stay cool. Morgan was not going to keep himself bottled up for much longer, and she wasn't going to be able to avoid the fallout when he blew.

She also didn't want to be with Reid at the moment, because she felt like standing in proximity would almost guarantee her being burned to a crisp when everything went to hell—literally. And—if she was honest with herself—she didn't want to be close enough to Reid to be able to see how awful he really looked. Luckily, he and Garcia were lagging, and she managed to catch the car with Rossi.

"Hey," she said, as Rossi closed the door and started the engine. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine," said Rossi, pulling the car smoothly away from the plane. "And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm good," said Emily, a little unnerved, as usual, by Rossi's easy speech and calm demeanor. Though Hotch often got the reputation for being the calm one, and she got the reputation for being best at compartmentalization, Emily often thought that Rossi was the one who deserved both titles. Though he kept his gaze calmly on the road, his speed exactly in accordance with the speed limit, Emily's resolve broke after thirty seconds.

"Actually, no I'm not," she said, rolling her shoulders in defeat. "What is going on with everyone? Morgan and Hotch are pissed, Garcia is acting like someone kicked her puppy, and Reid—I don't even know about Reid. Do you know what's happening with him?"

"No," said Rossi, "I don't. But I figure he'll tell us when he's ready."

Emily sighed, nodded, then shook her head. "I don't know, Rossi, he's been—I don't know what he's going to tell us or when. I didn't say anything about it at the time because he asked me not to, but…"

She trailed off, her resolve wavering. She didn't know what good it would do to tell Rossi—what was he going to do about it? Even Hotch couldn't force Reid to tell them what he didn't want to tell.

"Does this have something to do with you calling in an officer down and then calling it off two seconds later at Bellevue?"

Emily looked at him sharply, but Rossi didn't take his eyes off the road. She sighed again.

"It was the weirdest thing," she said. "One minute he was fine, and the next he wasn't answering me. I couldn't wake him up so I called Hotch, but the next second he was on his feet, telling me he was all right. He seemed…okay, so I didn't mention it. Do you think I should have?"

"I think that's…interesting," said Rossi. "But I don't think we should jump to any conclusions until we've talked to Reid about it."

"You think he'll talk to us?"

"I think we can ask him."

Something in Rossi's voice told Emily that was all she was going to get out of him. But it didn't ease her stomach, which was twisting itself into knots.


	7. Chapter 7

Three cars were waiting for them when they deboarded the plane, but, seeing that Reid was hanging back, Garcia also hesitated, on the pretense of trying to figure something out with her computer. Hotch left first, followed by Morgan, who didn't give her a second glance, though he did glare at Reid for a moment before sweeping off. Emily waved goodbye as she and Rossi left, and then it was just her and Reid. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot, Garcia stuffed her laptop into her bag and hurried over to where Reid still sat, his head in his hands.

"No more cases for you, hotshot," she said, sitting down beside him. "I swear to God, if that investigation had gone on another day I would have flown you back to Washington myself, flapping my arms like wings the whole way. Come on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

Reid shook his head slowly, then raised it from his hands.

"No," he said. "I'm okay, it's just…the change is pressure from the descent got me a little lightheaded. Let's go back to the office."

Garcia didn't have to be a profiler to hear that Reid sounded like he was on the brink of tears. And he looked exhausted. She had been watching him try to sleep on the plane, but she could tell he was faking it by the way his forehead would crinkle with pain every few moments, and the way he kept his arms tightly clenched over his chest, as if he was resisting the urge to bring them out and tear at something. But she could also tell by the look of determination on his face that he was not in the mood for compromise.

"Reid…"

"It's my last night, Garcia. I'll just get a couple of things in order and then you can take me home, okay?"

"Will you spend the night at my place, at least? For my sake," she added quickly. "I don't think my back can stand another night on your couch, sweet pea."

Reid stared at her for a moment, and at any other time Garcia would have thought he was considering the offer. Now, however, she had the horrible suspicion that he was trying to process the information she had given him. At long last, he nodded.

"Okay," she said, standing and taking his arm, "let's get you to your feet."

She pulled him up and kept his arm firmly in her grasp to guide him down the stairs and onto the tarmac where the car was waiting. Since she wasn't officially an FBI agent, she was technically not supposed to be driving their SUVs, but Reid was in no condition to do so, and so she helped him into the passenger seat and then climbed into the driver's side. By the time she had buckled herself in, Reid was sobbing.

"Oh my God," she said. "Oh my God, Reid, what is it? Was it something I did? Did I hurt you? Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Should I call Dr. Hansen? Reid, talk to me!"

But Reid just shook his head and wiped his eyes. "I don't think I can do this anymore," he said. "Not by myself."

"Oh," said Garcia. "Oh, Reid." She reached out and grabbed his arm. "You don't have to, honey, you don't! I'm right here, and we can tell the others! You just say the word and I'll march into that office and spill the beans in front of Hotch and Morgan and everyone else! I'll broadcast it over the radio if you want, you know I could! I'll even take all the blame for all this stupid secretiveness if you want! You have so many people who are ready to help you, Reid, all you have to do is tell them!"

But as quickly as the episode had come, it passed. Reid stopped crying and took three huge gulps of air, then shook his head firmly.

"No," he said. "No, I'm"—another gasp of air—"I'm sorry. Mood swings are common in almost eighty percent of all brain tumors, I was just"—a swallow—"I don't want to tell them."

Garcia's heart sank.

"Reid…"

"I don't want to tell them, thanks. Can you please just drive?"

Reid was no longer looking at her. Garcia squeezed her eyes shut to force away the tears which were pricking them, closed her mouth, and started the engine.


	8. Chapter 8

Everyone was back in the office at least a full ten minutes before Garcia and Reid arrived. Hotch was in the corner leaning on one of the abandoned desks in the bullpen, talking in a low voice on the telephone, though Morgan couldn't tell with whom. Emily and Rossi were both at their respective desks, clearing up the paperwork. The lights were mostly out, and considering it was nine o'clock and they had spent the past four days tracking a killer on little to no sleep, it was no surprise that they were all ready to go home. But none of them were leaving, and the fact that Hotch wasn't taking his call in his office wasn't the only visible sign of the tension that was tying them there like rope.

Morgan was standing near Reid's desk, his fingers drumming on the surface rhythmically every few seconds. His eyes were on the door, and unlike the others, he made no pretenses about being busy. He was waiting for Reid. The hand that was not on the desktop was on the stack of files that was resting on it, and though what he was going to do next left a bitter taste in his mouth, he kept telling himself that it was for Reid's own good. The half of him that wasn't looking up at the door every five seconds was dreading the moment he saw Reid's skinny silhouette through the glass…but if no one else was going to take action, well, he sure as hell wasn't going to wait around for Reid to spiral down so far he couldn't pull himself back up.

But where was he?

Morgan was just about ready to call Garcia when he finally saw them, their shapes warped into one amorphous blob by the glass which separated them from the rest of the team. They seemed unusually close together, but when they drew level with the door they broke apart, and Reid came through first, Garcia tailing behind him.

Morgan straightened and folded his arms over his chest. He took a step toward the pair before either of them had a chance to look around the office.

"Reid," he said.

In the corner, he heard Hotch say, "I'll call you back," and a moment later he stepped out of the shadows and said, "Morgan," thus inserting himself into the confrontation, but not deterring Morgan from starting it.

Reid and Garcia both looked up. Reid glanced back at Garcia, and Morgan couldn't read the look he gave her, because it was over too fast. Garcia looked…worried, but she said nothing as Reid hitched his messenger bag up on his shoulder and hurried over to where Morgan stood.

"What's up, Morgan?"

Reid looked pale, his eyes sunken and red-rimmed—awful, in other words. But his voice was confident enough, and he looked Morgan in the eye as he approached him, almost defiantly.

"So I heard you talked to Strauss," said Morgan, staring down at Reid despite the fact that the younger man was a few inches taller than he was. Fortunately, Morgan had both age and ability to intimidate on his side. Reid's eyes flickered over to Hotch, then to Emily, who had looked up from her paperwork in order to watch the conversation. Reid sagged a little, as if the weight of Morgan's statement was physically exhausting, but he did not look angry.

"Yeah, I did," he said. "I need some time off."

"Mid if I ask what for?"

Reid brushed his hair out of his face.

"Yeah, I actually do. Sorry."

Heat flared in Morgan's chest.

"So that's it? You're just going to leave us with no explanation whatsoever? Without even telling us you were going? What, were we just supposed to come in to work tomorrow and find your desk empty? Were you going to disconnect your phone, make sure we couldn't even call to ask where you were? Was that your plan?"

He expected Reid to quail, to avoid the question, but to his surprise, Reid smiled ironically and looked him dead in the eye.

"You know Morgan, I didn't have a plan, but since I can't trust anyone on this team to keep a secret, it seems like I didn't have to worry. So thanks."

Reid made as if the sidestep him, to get to his desk, but Morgan put out a hand and caught him across the chest. He had to suppress a shudder at the sensation of Reid's ribs beneath his palm, but right now his anger outweighed his concern.

"Don't walk away from me," he said. "I want to know what's going on with you, Reid, and you're not leaving until I get an answer."

Hotch took another step forward. "Morgan," he said again, his voice firmer.

"No, Hotch, it's okay," said Reid, surprising both of them. "You want an answer, Morgan? Well, what's the question?"

The tone of his voice startled all of them. Reid was many things, but he was not this irritable, angry creature standing before them, glaring at all of them as if he would sooner tear their eyes out than let them come any closer to him. Emily stood slowly, her mouth half open as if in preparation to speak, though she said nothing, and Rossi stepped out of his office, folding his arms over his chest. Hotch's eyes were on Reid, his expression fixed and unreadable. Morgan glared.

"Why don't you tell me, Reid?"

Reid scoffed.

"Is that the best you can do, Morgan, really? I think we all know what you think I've been doing, so why don't you just come out and say it, huh? But you can't even do that. You're trying to tell me you care about me, right? So why not just tell me what my problem is?"

Before Morgan could reply, Hotch reached forward and grabbed Reid's arm.

"Reid," he said, "that's enough."

But Reid shook him off.

"No, I want to hear this," he said. "I think I have the right to hear him say to my face what he's been saying behind my back all week. You're just like the rest of them, you know that? Everyone used to talk behind my back, all my life. Actually, you know the only difference between you and them? None of them pretended to be my friend first."

That one stung. Morgan flinched—had Reid really just compared him to the tormenters from his past? To the people who had once stripped him naked and tied him to the goalposts when he was just a helpless kid? No, Reid had gone one step further. He had called him worse.

"Reid, I'm not trying to go behind your back. I'm trying to make you see that you need _help_."

"Okay, that's enough."

Everyone looked around. Unnoticed, Garcia had crept forward, until she was standing close enough to wedge herself between Morgan and Reid. She pushed Reid gently back to make room for herself and then took Morgan by the arm, pulling him away from Reid.

"Look," she said. "I know we're all tired, we're all frustrated, but I think if we just take a step back and look at this whole messed up situation, we'll see that this is neither the time nor the place for us to be biting each others' heads off. If Reid wants to tell you all something, he'll do it, right Reid?" She cast a glance over her shoulder at Reid, who had gotten a glazed look in his eyes, but who nodded nonetheless. She nodded and turned back to Morgan. "In the _meantime_," she said, "there's no need for everyone to be angry. We're a family, remember? And…families shouldn't act like this."

"Garcia," Morgan's voice was cold, "families don't abandon each other either."

"Is it true, Reid?" said Prentiss, finally speaking up. "Are you leaving?"

Reid looked away. Prentiss's face fell.

"Reid, _why_?"

"We know why!" said Morgan. "He just doesn't want to own up!"

"Sweetie, you know I love you," said Garcia, her voice hardening as she met Morgan's glare with one of her own, "but when you get an idea in your head you are _way_ too stubborn. Have you considered that maybe Reid doesn't want to talk about this yet because he's not ready? And you don't know that he's been doing…what you think he's been doing."

"Oh yeah?" said Morgan. "Why don't you take a look in his bag, Garcia, and then you'll see _exactly_ what Reid's been doing."

Morgan made to push around her, but Garcia put a hand on his chest.

"All my love, Morgan, but you really, _really_ need to back off on this one."

But Morgan was having none of it. Didn't Garcia understand this was a matter of life and death? He was done playing games. He put a hand on her shoulder and firmly moved her out of his path.

"I'll back off," he said, "when Reid shows us what's in the bag."

He snatched the bag off of Reid's shoulder, and Reid made a grab for it just a second too late. Both of them lost their grip and the bag crashed to the floor with a plastic rattle, half a dozen orange prescription bottles spilling from the open flap. Garcia pressed a hand to her mouth and Reid dropped to his knees, trying to sweep the bottles back into the bag, but the damage was done. As everyone else froze, one of the bottles rolled to a halt at Morgan's feet and he stooped to pick it up. He gave it a quick glance. Though he didn't understand the name of the medication, he understood the name on the bottle was Spencer's, and understood what was printed in small letters underneath the section labeled "Uses":

_To prevent muscle spasms_.

He looked up as Reid staggered to his feet and swung his bag back over his shoulder. Morgan's brow furrowed, anger replaced by confusion and, inexplicably, fear.

"Reid," he said slowly, "what is this?"

Reid did not look him in the eye, but held his hand out for the bottle and said, "Thanks it for biology."

There was a pause.

"Reid," said Rossi, who had moved from his office door to the main floor at some point during the altercation, "what did you just say?"

Reid looked around at him and blinked hard, once.

"What letter sheep bed ear?" he said.

"Prentiss, call 911," said Hotch. He stepped up behind Reid and took him firmly by the elbow. "Reid, you need to sit down."

"No," said Reid, blinking hard again and pulling his elbow out of Hotch's grasp. "No, I'm money. Don't candy…"

But the rest of his sentence trailed off into oblivion. Reid's jaw went slack, and his eyes slid out of focus, then rolled up into his head.

"Morgan, catch him," said Hotch, and Morgan reached out just in time to stop Reid from cracking his skull open against his own desk, but that was the best he could do. Reid flailed against his grip and he lost it, sending Reid crashing to the floor, jerking and twitching.

There was a brief moment of chaos as everyone watched Reid go down and Hotch and Morgan fell to their knees beside him, while Garcia pressed her hands to her mouth harder, this time looking like she was suppressing a scream, and Prentiss said loudly to the 911 operator, "I think he's having a seizure!"

Only Rossi remained calm, lowering himself to the ground beside Hotch and Morgan and pushing Morgan out of the way when he made to grab Reid's head.

"Don't hold him down," said Rossi. "Turn him onto his side so he doesn't asphyxiate—Hotch, give me your jacket so I can cushion his head."

Morgan backed off a few feet and then stumbled into a standing position, his face frozen in shock. Reid's whole body contracted and jerked as Rossi and Hotch turned him onto his side to prevent the white sputum that was coating his mouth from choking him. His mind could not get around this—Reid, on the floor, Reid, with his eyes rolled back in his head so that they were only slivers of bloodshot white, Reid, whose mind was always in control of everything, not even in control of his own body. Had he caused this somehow?

The seizure seemed to last forever—so long that Morgan was sure it was going to stop only when Reid's heart gave out—but at last, when Emily was off the phone and Garcia had managed to remove her hands from her mouth, the violent spasms ceased to twitches, the twitches to stillness, and Reid's eyes closed.

Rossi, who had positioned himself so that Reid wouldn't flip onto his back during the episode, reclined onto his knees. Hotch reached out and took Reid's pulse, but Reid did not stir.

"Prentiss, how long until the ambulance gets here?"

"Two minutes," said Emily, rounding her desk to get a better look at Reid. "Is he okay?"

"He's breathing," said Rossi. "That's good."

Garcia was crying.

"What the hell just happened?" said Morgan.

Hotch shook his head, keeping his eyes on Reid. His face was still stoic, but even Morgan could see him shaking. _Morgan_ was shaking too.

"We should try to wake him," said Rossi, leaning forward. He tapped Reid lightly on the cheek. "Reid? Can you hear me?"

Reid's eyelids fluttered, then shut again.

Rossi went for a different approach. He placed his hand in Reid's and said, "Reid, squeeze my hand once if you can hear me."

Reid must have squeezed, though Morgan didn't see it, because Rossi said, "Good. Reid, there's an ambulance on the way, but I need you to tell me a few things before it gets here. Have you ever had a seizure before?"

This time Morgan caught it. Two squeezes.

"I'm sorry I have to ask this, Reid, but I need you to answer me honestly this time. Have you taken any narcotics recently?"

Two squeezes.

Morgan turned away, grabbing his head in frustration. What was going on? If not narcotics, _what_?

The paramedics were there. Emily hurried over to let them through the door, and they immediately dominated the scene, pushing Hotch and Rossi out of the way as they got to Reid.

"What happened?" said one, a girl who looked even younger than Reid.

"He had a seizure," said Hotch. "He said he's never had one before."

"Was he responsive?" asked the girl. Without waiting for an answer, she bent over Reid and said, "Sir, can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?"

"He was squeezing my hand a second ago," said Rossi.

"Sir, please," said the girl, holding up a hand. Her partner was securing Reid to the backboard, and together they lifted him onto the gurney. Reid's head lolled, and as soon as he was on the gurney, his arm flailed.

"John—"

Before any of the other team members could realize what was happening the other paramedic, John, had pulled Reid onto his side and another violent convulsion wracked Reid's body.

"Out of the way," said the girl, pushing the gurney toward the door as Spencer continued to seize. "We'll take him to the hospital, you can meet us there."

Hotch nodded; it was the most any of them could manage—or so it seemed, until, for the first time since the seizures started, Garcia opened her mouth.

"Wait!" she said. "He needs to go to Potomac, his doctor's name is Hansen."

Garcia ignored everyone's stares, focusing only on the female paramedic, who said, "Do you know what caused the seizure, ma'am?"

Garcia swallowed.

"He has a brain tumor—an, an astrocytoma, stage three."

"All right. John, call Potomac, tell them we're on our way and to page Dr. Hansen."

And without another word to the team, the paramedics wheeled Spencer out the door, leaving the team in silence, all eyes directed at Garcia.


	9. Chapter 9

Garcia would never be sure how she had gotten from the office to the hospital. She had some vague notion that she had driven herself—maybe to avoid the inevitable questions of the other team members just a little while longer—but all she could remember of the drive was continuously berating herself for not taking Spencer to the hospital straight off the plane, when she had suspected that he had been pushed to the edge, when she had seen him clutching his head and then crying like that in the front seat…and if not on the plane, then why not in the office, when he had snapped at Morgan like that? She _knew_ Reid, knew he wouldn't have acted like that unless something was wrong, really wrong…She couldn't get the image of him falling out of her mind, nor the way his eyes had rolled up into his head as he'd hit the floor. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to erase it.

She got into the waiting room at the same time as everyone else, but after the fashion of everything that had happened in the past week, everything was moving too quickly for any of them to say how they had gotten there. Before any of them had a chance to do much other than stare at each other in blank shock, a woman in blue scrubs and a surgical cap came striding up to them, holding a chart.

"Are you all here for Spencer Reid?" she asked.

Hotch stepped forward. "Yes."

The woman's eyes slid over him.

"Is one of you Penelope Garcia?"

Garcia stepped forward.

"That's me."

The woman turned to address her directly.

"Spencer's seizures are being caused by increased pressure on his brain. We need to drill burr holes to relieve some of the pressure, and you're listed as his proxy."

Garcia quailed.

"I'm sorry, you want to drill into his _brain_?"

"Miss Garcia, I'm sorry, but this is an emergency procedure. I can explain more later, but if we don't do this now Spencer's brain could hemorrhage."

Garcia thought her heart was going to explode. Nodding, she took the pen and scrawled something which looked nothing like her own signature at the bottom of the chart. Without another word, the woman jogged off down the hallway and out of sight.

Which left Garcia alone with the others.

Much to her chagrin, Hotch spoke first. She flinched, but his voice wasn't harsh, but gentle and, perplexingly, almost wounded.

"Garcia," he said, "how long have you known about all of this?"

"Just a couple of weeks," she said, embarrassed at how small her voice sounded. "I did some checking when Morgan first said he thought Spencer might be on drugs again. I found…all of this."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because he asked me not to," said Garcia. "I'm sorry, I wanted to, but he really didn't want anyone else to know, he didn't even want me to know! And…he was just so tired and sad and I didn't want to make it worse so…I agreed."

"And he made you his proxy?"

Garcia swallowed. "Just a few days ago. Because…he said he didn't want his dad to make his decisions when he couldn't." She was blinking back tears now. "I really, really wish it didn't have to be me. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know anything about brain tumors! I mean, I've done some extensive Googling over the past couple of weeks, obviously, but I don't think that exactly makes me an expert. I've never even heard of burr holes and I just gave them permission to drill into his head! What if he's not okay? I don't think I'll be able to live with myself!"

"Garcia, come here, sit down." Hotch grabbed her elbow and guided her into one of the hard plastic chairs that lined the walls of the waiting area. "Now calm down. You heard the doctor, you didn't have a choice on that one. As soon as Spencer's awake he can start making his own decisions again, all right?"

Garcia nodded, taking deep steadying breaths.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you," she said.

"You respected Spencer's wishes. No one can fault you for that." Hotch cast a glance over his shoulder at Morgan, who for the first time Garcia noticed seemed to be seething. "What I want to know is why _he_ didn't want to tell us. He let us think the worst of him, and I don't understand that."

At this Morgan turned away, and Garcia realized that he wasn't angry at _her_ but at himself.

"He said…he said he didn't want to burden anyone with having to take care of him, not with JJ being gone and everything else that's been going on lately. He didn't want anyone to be distracted." She sniffed.

"How could he think he'd be a burden?" said Emily. "He knows we'd want to be there for him. And with the whole situation with his parents, he doesn't really have anyone else, does he?"

No one answered her. Abruptly, Hotch turned away from them and marched down the adjacent hallway.

"What…?" Garcia looked pleadingly at the remaining faces for an explanation, thinking Hotch was reacting to something she had said, but no one said anything but Rossi, who just nodded and said, "I'd better go talk to him."

Emily ran her hands through her hair.

"This is unreal," she said. "I mean, I really feel like this isn't happening. How bad is it, Garcia? I mean, he's not going to…?"

Garcia swallowed, wishing she had a better answer.

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me, and I couldn't bring myself to look it up for myself but…it doesn't look good."

"_God_," said Emily, and she fell silent, staring at the ground.

Morgan, meanwhile, had begun to pace.

"Morgan?" said Garcia.

The mention of his name was enough to set Morgan off. He rounded on her, his eyes filled with hurt and anger.

"Why would he let us go on thinking that? Why wouldn't he just _tell_ us he was sick, rather than let us stand there and let us call him a—?" He broke off, turning away. "He shoulda said something."

"Oh, sweetie, it wasn't you! He was scared, he wasn't thinking clearly, if anything _I_ should have been the one to say something, I knew he wasn't in Spencer mode, maybe it would have been better if I'd done it for him."

Morgan shook his head, but did not look at her. "No," he said. "Like Hotch said, you were just respecting his wishes. I'm going to get some air, just…let me know when you know something."

And he stormed out.

Garcia looked to Emily just as she looked up. Emily then surprised Garcia by springing to her feet and pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"I'm going outside too," she said. "I have to make a phone call."

"Who are you calling?"

Emily was already walking away. Over her shoulder she called, "JJ."

And then Garcia was alone.


	10. Chapter 10

Hotch was halfway down the dark abandoned hallway, leaning against the wall, when Rossi approached him. He was glad it was Dave who had come after him, for he was not in the mood for an emotional conversation, and true enough, Rossi cut straight to the point.

"What's on your mind, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch sighed and rubbed his hand across his face.

"She said she didn't know why he thought he'd be a burden," he said.

"And you do?"

Hotch shook his head, not in disagreement, but as if by doing so he could clear it.

"I think I made him feel that way."

Rossi looked on curiously, but said nothing.

"He came to me before the case," Hotch went on, "to tell me that he'd requested time off. I basically told him to suck it up and deal with it."

"You had no way of knowing what was going on with him," said Rossi. "He chose not to tell you, and you reacted in the only way you knew how. I'm sure Reid doesn't fault you for it, and you shouldn't beat yourself up over it."

"He"—Hotch paused, for his voice had almost broken, and he needed to regain his composure—"he didn't want to work this last case, said he couldn't do it, but I made him come along. Maybe if I'd confronted him sooner, or just given him the time he needed…"

"Hotch, you know as well as I do that there's no good in asking 'what if'. Spencer made a deliberate choice not to keep you informed on this, that's on him, not on you. The best we can do is help him now, in this moment, with the information we have at our disposal."

Hotch shook his head. "I made him feel like he couldn't come to me with his personal problems. That's on me."

"He didn't feel like he could come to anyone, not just you, though I suspect that if he'd gone to anyone on his own volition you would have been the first on his list. He looks up to you. He told Garcia he didn't want to burden anyone, but I think that's probably not the whole story. You know Reid has always struggled with being the kid on this team—on every team he's ever been on, in fact. I bet he thought that by coming to you—or anyone—with this, it would be an admission of weakness."

"We never would have—"

"Of course not," said Rossi, "but can't you see how he might have been worried?"

Hotch's guilt did not disappear, but it did subside enough for him to nod.

"It still doesn't help me know what to do next."

"Nobody knows what to do in these situations," said Rossi. "We just have to be there for him now, and do whatever he needs when the need arises."

Hotch nodded again, and took the opportunity to look away and squeeze his eyes shut.

"We should get back out there," said Rossi. "They'll be looking to us to tell them what to do."


	11. Chapter 11

JJ was with Henry when she got the call.

Contrary to her mother's reassurances, the terrible twos had _not_ abated as Henry drew nearer to three, and her usually sweet child was currently turning her wall into a spaghetti-and-creamed corn collage. Will was diligently attempting to clean up an earlier mess while simultaneously talking to his own mother on the phone and make coffee, and so JJ had been left to the task of calming Henry and trying to make sure at least some of the food made it into his mouth. She was stressed, frazzled, her hair greasy, her clothes unkempt, but as tired as she was from taking care of Henry and learning the ropes of her new job, she had to admit she was glad to be there. She had missed plenty of moments with Henry in the past two years, and though this was not the most pleasant of them, at least it _was_ a moment.

That was something she had rarely had when she was with the BAU.

She wondered if Hotch hadn't replaced her yet because he still thought there was a chance he could get her back or if he was just in denial. Either way, she didn't have the heart to tell him, when he'd called to ask, that she didn't think there was any way she'd ever get out of the Pentagon…and what was more, that she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Not that she didn't miss it—she did, more even than she thought she would. She had followed their cases for the first couple of weeks, had watched Garcia brilliantly rose to the task of handling the press and as the others filled in for everything else she did. When Garcia had called her after the first case they had worked in her absence, JJ couldn't help but laugh; they had finally learned to appreciate her—all she'd had to do was leave. She had stopped keeping such close tabs, however, when Will had reprimanded her, reminding her that it wasn't her life any more, and she wasn't doing any good by living vicariously through her friends.

Surprisingly, as soon as she'd stopped paying attention to the cases, things had gotten easier.

She was enjoying her time with Henry, _really_ enjoying her time with Will; she was enjoying not having to fly out at a moment's notice, not having to go into work in the morning not knowing whether or not she would be kissing her son good night later that day…but of course, she hadn't said that to any of her friends at the BAU on the few occasions she had seen or spoken to them.

She was just wiping off Henry's hand, the last bit of him she could clean well short of giving him a bath, when her cell phone rang.

"Can you get that, Will?"

Will popped his head into the room to show her that he was still on the phone with his mother, mouthed an apology, and ducked back out, sounding exasperated. Henry giggled when JJ released his hand—which he immediately dove back into the mess coating his high chair—and then went off in search of her cell. She found it under one of Henry's stuffed animals and answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Jennifer Jareau."

"Hey, JJ? It's Emily."

JJ immediately perked up.

"Emily? I haven't heard from you in a while, how are you?"

"I'm…okay."

JJ frowned. Emily didn't usually speak in such short sentences when she called—she always answered the phone with a story ready.

"Is something wrong?" JJ asked. "You sound a little off."

"I'm okay," said Emily, though her voice still suggested otherwise. "I'm actually calling about Reid."

"Oh yeah?" said JJ, making her way back to Henry and picking him up before he could make much more of a mess of himself. "How is Spence? He hasn't called in like weeks, and he sent Henry his birthday present about two months early…I'd say I thought he forgot, but, you know, it's Reid."

She laughed casually, but was met with nothing but silence on the other end. JJ frowned again.

"Emily? Are you still there?"

"JJ…," Emily seemed to be struggling with herself on the other end, "Reid's in the hospital, that's why I'm calling."

JJ nearly dropped the phone. _Again_?

"Did something happen on the last case?" _She'd told Will she shouldn't have stopped watching the news_!

"No, no, nothing like that." Emily sounded exhausted. "He just…well, it's kind of complicated, JJ. I'd rather explain to you in person. We're all at D.C. General waiting for him to get out of surgery. Do you think you can come down?"

_Surgery_? JJ wanted to say, but she didn't, because Emily sounded urgent, and every moment they spent on the phone was one not spent in the car driving to the hospital.

"Of course," she said. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Emily hung up first.


	12. Chapter 12

Hotch was sitting with Garcia and Rossi when Emily made her way back into the waiting room. She was looking at the floor, her expression a mingling of shock and exhaustion. Hotch realized for the first time since Reid had collapsed that none of them had slept in three days, but none of them were going to go to sleep now; they were running on borrowed energy, strung-out on worry and fear, those drugs the body produced on its own but which felt unnatural and uncomfortable, like something to be expelled. Hotch's mind and body were both trying to banish the crippling guilt and fear that were suffocating him, but they had taken up residence and were not leaving without a fight.

"I just called JJ," said Emily, taking a seat next to Garcia. "She's on her way."

"Good," said Hotch. "I just talked to the nurse, she said they've got him stable. Hopefully by the time JJ gets here we'll be able to see him."

Emily nodded, looked away for a moment, and then said, "She said that Reid sent Henry a birthday present last week."

"Isn't Henry's birthday in two months?" said Garcia, screwing up her face as she tried to remember.

"Yeah," said Emily, "it is."

"So why would…oh." Garcia's face fell as she realized the implication, and Hotch looked at his hands to avoid the look of horror which overtook Garcia's features. How bad was it, if Reid didn't think he'd be around in two months?

"Where did Morgan go?" said Rossi.

"He said he needed some air. He asked us to call when we knew something."

No one had anything to say to this, and so they all resumed staring at their feet.

Time slowed.

After what seemed like hours, the sound of footsteps on the cold linoleum made everyone look up. The doctor? But no, that pin-straight blonde hair belonged to JJ, though at the moment it was almost as disheveled as Hotch had ever seen it, and her face looked as worried and drawn as they all felt. He had never thought he could be this unhappy to see her—not because he didn't want to have everyone there, even those who were no longer official members of the team, but because of the circumstances under which they were gathering.

"What happened?" JJ sounded out of breath. "Is he—?"

"He's out of surgery," said Hotch, standing up. "But beyond that we don't know."

"What kind of surgery?" said JJ. "What happened? Is he sick? Was he hurt?"

Everyone looked at one another, no one quite sure what to say. For the first time Hotch understood—at least in part—why Reid had had such a hard time telling them what was going on. It was not easy to hear that someone you loved had cancer, but it was even harder to say, as if by speaking it aloud you somehow cemented it in reality. Everyone was looking to him.

"He has a brain tumor," said Hotch. Simple. Harsh. JJ pressed a hand to her chest and sank into a seat.

"Why didn't anyone call me?" she said. "Why didn't _he_ tell me? He came over for dinner last month, he didn't say anything!"

"He didn't tell us either," said Emily. "We just found out an hour ago when he collapsed in the office."

"Collapsed?"

"He had a seizure."

JJ put her head down and ran her hands through her hair.

"Doesn't that mean it's bad?" she said when she looked back up. "I mean, if he's having seizures it can't be good. How long has he known about this? It can't have just popped up overnight; didn't anyone notice something was wrong?"

Once again, everyone's eyes found the ground. JJ's voice was imploring, not accusatory, but Hotch could tell that each of them was thinking, Yes, we did notice, but we read the signs wrong, we didn't offer our help, let him deal with it on his own…

No one replied.

As if sent for the specific purpose of smashing through the heavy silence, the sound of muffled footsteps down the hall made everyone raise their heads. A woman in blue scrubs and surgical slippers was walking down the hall toward them. It only took a moment for everyone to recognize her as Dr. Hansen, the neurosurgeon who had helped them on the case where the UnSub had been lobotomizing his victims. Everyone jumped to their feet.

Dr. Hansen stopped in front of the group and looked them over quickly. They must have looked somewhat ridiculous, a strange conglomeration of suits and sweatpants, with Garcia's flamboyantly bright outfit stuck right in the middle. Dr. Hansen's eyes slid over the suits and found Garcia, towards whom she stepped.

"Penelope?" she said. "Dr. Hansen." She reached out a hand to shake Garcia's, and Garcia took it tentatively. "Can I talk to you alone for a moment?"

"Oh, they're all with me," she said.

"I know that," said Dr. Hansen, "but last time I spoke to Spencer he told me he still hadn't told anyone else about the particulars of his condition. Technically I would be in violation of doctor-patient confidentiality."

Garcia drew herself up to her full, though not altogether considerable, height.

"Anything you tell me I'm just going to tell them when I get back."

Dr. Hansen spent a brief moment examining the look of determination on Garcia's face, threatened only by her trembling lips, then took a step back and addressed the whole group.

"Spencer's seizures were caused by increased intracranial pressure. We managed to stop the seizures by performing a decompressive craniectomy—the burr holes. There's a lot of technical stuff involved in why the buildup occurred, but to make a long story short, the tumor has grown since his last CT scan and it's going to make a lot of things go haywire. I'm also going to put him on an anticonvulsant, which should prevent any further seizures, but most of what Spencer's been doing so far has been treating the symptoms and not the disease. He needs to start rounds of targeted radiation as soon as possible, and though I want to review the latest scans a few more times, we may want to start thinking about attempting a removal."

"Wait," said Garcia. "Isn't that a surgery? I thought—but Reid said that his was inoperable. If it's gotten bigger, doesn't that mean it's more inoperable?"

"Technically it was only extremely inadvisable to operate. But unfortunately we're running out of options. I don't want to speak ill of Dr. Reid, but he hasn't been taking care of himself the way he ought to have been. This new symptom is generally a marker in these types of tumors that the patient has only got a few months left. If we want to give him a chance at being in the ten percent that make it to five years, we need to start thinking radically."

Hotch's head was buzzing with this new information, the statistics he had just been given bouncing off the inside of his skull, but these bits weren't what rose to the forefront of his mind. _Dr_._ Reid hasn't been taking care of himself the way he ought to have been_.

_Because I haven't been letting him._

Garcia, meanwhile, was speaking to the doctor, sounding like she was holding back tears.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"Nothing right now. We don't anticipate any permanent brain damage from the seizures, and Dr. Reid will be awake soon enough. He's going to have to make these decisions for himself. For now you just need to be there for him. Make sure he follows through with whatever treatments he elects."

"Can we see him?"

"He should be waking up soon, but he'll be groggy, in and out of consciousness. You can sit with him, let him know you're there, but go in one at a time. I don't want him overwhelmed. Also, he had to be intubated in the ambulance. He's breathing on his own now, but we have him on oxygen and he's going to be hoarse for a while. Not to mention the fact that seizures are physically exhausting. He'd going to be sore as hell and he's going to need a lot of sleep, so keep it brief. I'll take you to his room, if you want."

Garcia started forward with a nod, but before she could go more than one step, Hotch stepped in front of her.

"Garcia," he said, "would it be all right if I spoke with him first?"

Garcia nodded mutely but in truth she looked relieved. She stepped aside, said, "I think I'm going to go find Morgan," and hurried off down the hall. Hotch looked back at the remaining members of the team—and JJ—and gave them a small, stiff nod. They'd be waiting when he got back, but he knew that this was the most important moment, that whatever Hotch did when he was in that room would determine how the rest of them would react when they got their turns, how they would act around Reid now that they knew his secret.

Dr. Hansen had already turned and was walking down the hall. Hotch followed her briskly, suddenly acutely aware of the squeak of his shoes against the tile. She didn't say a word as she led him into the ICU. Hotch was pleased to see that Spencer had gotten one of the rare private rooms and he suspected that Dr. Hansen had had something to do with that. He remembered that she had liked Spencer while they were working the lobotomy case; he was glad Reid had gone to her, at the very least.

Dr. Hansen paused only briefly outside the door before letting Hotch in.

"Just let him rest when he needs to. Like I said, he's going to be pretty out of it. I know you might be feeling angry or hurt, but now is not the time to express those feelings. He's vulnerable, he can barely communicate as it is. Just…try to keep it simple. I'll be back to check on him in an hour."

An hour was generous, Hotch knew. These weren't even regular visiting hours. But he had the feeling that Dr. Hansen was glad for his presence. She seemed happy that Reid wasn't alone. Hotch nodded, not really trusting himself to speak, and she returned the gesture before walking off down the hall. Hotch took a deep breath and walked into the room.

Reid looked…awful. He was hooked up to innumerable machines, all beeping and hissing and whirring; his face covered in an oxygen mask, his arm tethered to a clear IV which was slowly dripping nutrients into his veins, a clip on his finger feeding numbers into a machine…but none of this was what made Hotch pause at the door. What made Hotch pause was the fact that Reid was _bald_—they had shaved his head for the procedure, and though the burr holes had been packed and covered with a bandage, the shiny crown of Reid's head was still visible above his deeply shadowed, closed eyes.

Hotch pursed his lips, approached the bed, and sat down. Trying to look only in Reid's face and not at his head, he placed his hand over Reid's.

"Reid," he said softly. "Spencer."

Reid stirred, his face scrunched into a look of pain for just a moment before he looked around blearily until his eyes found Hotch.

"Hey," said Hotch.

Reid reached up, as if to remove the mask, but Hotch grabbed his hand gently and placed it back on the blanket.

"It's all right, you don't have to talk right now," he said. "I just want to sit with you for a while, if that's okay."

Reid blinked, groggy, but his eyes had no trouble finding Hotch and staying on him, unlike in the office when he hadn't seemed able to focus on anything…unlike the past few days, in fact. With Hotch firmly in his sight, Reid once again reached up and this time removed his mask. Hotch steeled himself for whatever Reid might say, ready for the same icy words he had heard in the office, but when Reid opened his mouth, only two words, dry and raspy and painful, came out.

"I'm sorry."

Hotch leaned forward.

"For what?"

"Not telling you. I shouldn't have been working. I messed up. Again."

"Reid…"

Hotch couldn't think what to say. He had never seen Reid like this, had really never seen anyone like this, looking so frail and weak and…defeated. But Reid was looking at him imploringly, his eyes begging for the absolution which Hotch didn't know how to give.

"Reid, I'm not going to tell you that I'm not upset that you didn't come to me with this," he said finally, "but you don't have to apologize. I don't know how I would have reacted if I had been the one to receive this sort of news, and if what Garcia said was true, it sounded like you were just trying to protect us from the fallout. It was noble, Reid, but I think I told you once that there would be consequences if you ever put your life or others' in deliberate danger again."

Reid cracked a weak smile.

"Are you firing me?"

Hotch tried to muster a smile, but couldn't manage it.

"No," he said, "but I think I might give you that leave."

Reid nodded so slightly it was almost imperceptible, and his eyes fluttered shut. Remembering what the doctor had said about letting him sleep, Hotch didn't press him, preparing to get up in case the others wanted to come see him, but before he could raise himself out of his seat Reid's eyes slid open again.

"Have the others…?" He trailed off as his voice failed him, and swallowed hard, letting his eyes complete the question.

"No, I'm the only one who's been in."

"I must look pretty bad."

"You look fine," Hotch lied.

"Is Morgan really mad?" Reid grimaced, partly out of the pain of speaking, partly, Hotch thought, because the question sounded so small and childish. "The things I said…I need to tell him…sorry."

"Morgan understands you weren't yourself when you were saying those things."

"Not a good…excuse."

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "A tumor isn't a good excuse? Reid, even if you had been saying those things voluntarily I doubt any of us would have the right to be angry at you for saying them. We were accusing you of something terrible, we weren't taking care of you like we should have. You had every right to be mad."

"No," Reid mumbled, closing his eyes again.

There was another pause wherein Hotch wondered whether Reid had fallen asleep. The next time Reid spoke, he did so without opening his eyes.

"Hotch."

"I'm still here."

"Please don't tell my mom about this. Or—or my dad. I don't…"

He trailed off. Hotch's stomach sank. It was terribly unfair that Spencer did not even have the comfort of his mother to turn to in a time like this, but it was understandable, given his mother's condition. He wasn't sure what her reaction would be if she heard the news that her son had a deadly disease, but he was sure it would do Reid no good. As for his father…Hotch had hoped that there had been some reconciliation after the Riley Jenkins case, but it seemed that whatever contact Reid had maintained with his father was not nearly intimate enough to trust him with this sort of information or responsibility. Again, Hotch found this terribly unfair, but understandable. If he had been in Reid's place…

"I won't say anything to them, Reid."

Reid sighed and nodded again.

"Hotch," he said. "I'm probably going to die."

Hotch froze.

"No," he said. "You're not."

Reid smiled wanly, almost as if to himself.

"Do you want…the statistics?"

"I've heard them. I don't care. You might be feeling weak now, Reid, but you just got out of surgery, you haven't rested properly in weeks…and I'm sorry for that, that was my fault. But you have us now, and we're all going to take care of you. You're going to get better."

The smile went from Reid's face in an instant, folding in on itself into an expression which was simultaneously a look of pain and sorrow. A tear oozed from his eye and he reached up to wipe it away but got caught on his IV. Hotch grabbed his hand and placed it back on the blanket again, but this time he held it.

"It's okay," he said in the soothing voice he used when Jack was sick. "It's okay."

Once again, Hotch was lying.

**So that…might…be it. That is all I have written, anyway, and though it's not exactly a satisfying ending, it may be appropriate in a metaphorical sense. Anyway, don't be too upset if this is the last of it, and don't be too surprised if I write more. Thank you so much for reading!**


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